Page 52 of Trashy Foreplay

“I’m here,” I choke out.

“Touch yourself.”

The ragged quality of his voice travels through me, leaving shivers in its wake. I slide my fingers between my trembling thighs, embarrassed by the moan that vibrates off my lips.

He sucks in a quick breath. “Fuck, you’re driving me wild.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” I bite back another moan as I increase the pressure on my clit.

“I know, Jules. God, do I know it.”

“Then tell me to stop.” The words tumble out too quickly, my choppy breathing making it difficult to speak.

“I can’t,” he says, tortured. “But I’m going to hang up now. Ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Because if I ever get the chance to hear you come, it’s not going to be over the phone.”

He ends the call. And as I’m coming, his name a sigh on my lips, another text comes through.

Cash: You were more gorgeous than the sunset tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful.

18. Market Confessions - Cash

She’s looking at an arrangement of sunflower bouquets several feet ahead. And what am I doing?

I’m watching her like a stalker.

She hasn’t spotted me yet, and I’m not sure if I should grab her attention, or duck out of the market before she sees me. It would be easy enough to disappear into the crowd.

“Those colors suit you,” I say, my treacherous mouth making the decision for me.

Jules tilts her head my way, and our eyes connect. She’s fingering the wrapping on one of the bouquets. “I love purple, and sunflowers are one of my favorites.”

“Really?” I raise my brows. “Not roses?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Too common. Sunflowers are underrated.”

So is the simplicity of touch. The breathlessness of desire. I’ve gone without both for too long, and it’s messing with my head.

Fucking with my heart.

Meandering down the flower display, she fingers the wrapping on several of the bouquets, as if putting out feelers for the one that belongs to her. I keep pace behind her, and every few steps, she flicks her gaze at me from over her shoulder.

When she looks at me like that—like I’m a sunflower in a world of black roses—my grip on control slips a little more, and I’m close to drowning in everything Jules. I span the distance between us until I’m standing right behind her. We’re unmoving—like stones in a flowing river of bodies. And we aren’t even touching, but the chemistry between us is tangible. I wonder if her breaths are as shallow as mine.

“What else is your favorite?”

Her fingers slip from a bouquet. “Huh?”

“Flowers,” I say, feeling as dazed as she sounds. “You said sunflowers are one of your favorites. What’s another?”

“Um…” Her body sways toward me, but rather than give her more room, I rock on the balls of my feet until we’re an inch closer. “Tulips. They remind me of my grandma.”

“Are they her favorite?”

“They were. She had every color you can imagine.” She pauses, lost in her memories. “When I was a kid, I used to balance on the bricks around the flower beds. It was like walking on the edge of a rainbow.”

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